


Mr. Pink

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [67]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Laundry, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:31:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon prompt : Ian accidently puts the red shirt in the whites and turns their clothes pink</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I haven't been on here for a while - Shit has been going down and I'm going to a festival this week so I was basically sorting that all out. I will try and get some done soon though. Be patient:)

“Ian?!”

The grumbling, thunder of the voice echoed through the house as Ian fluttered his eyes open from his nap. In an instant, he knew he had fucked up. He groaned into his pillow, wiping his face against the sheets before reluctantly sitting up against the headboard. “What?” He calls out, oblivious.

A barrel of hurried, stomping footsteps echo through the hall followed by Mickey's – not so happy – entrance, that Ian could already sense was bad. Mickey's eyebrows are hitting his hairline, face red with anger. He lifts up a shirt in his right hand that is nearly as bright as his cheeks. “What the _fuck_ is this?” 

Ian looks over to the shirt, one that he hadn't recognised before. It was pink. None of them owned a pink shirt, unless Iggy was happily hiding it from them. “It's a pink shirt, Mick.” 

Mickey clenches his fist in the shirt. “I fucking know that, asshole, but  _why_ is it fucking pink?” 

“Uh, I would assume it was dyed at a factory or something.” Ian frowns, still unsure why the hell Mickey was interested in the logistics of shirt making and the colour system. “Why the hell are you asking me all of this?” 

Mickey chucks the shirt towards Ian, his mouth wanting to utter words but failing to get them out over his built up anger. “Because that's a fucking  _white_ shirt.” 

Ian pulls up the shirt before his face, “I'm pretty sure it's pink, Mick.” 

“It's pink because you put your fucking _red_ shirt in the machine with the god-damn whites! Are you fucking _crazy?”_ Mickey storms over, hovering over Ian in a paternal stance that Ian could only find amusing on all fronts. 

Ian scoffs, “Some people say I am.” From what started as giggles escalated into a burst of laughter, Ian found it hard to contain himself when he realised that his red shirt had most likely turned all their clothes pink. 

Mickey kicks at the bed, “You think this is fucking funny?” 

“Nope.” Ian tries to bite back his giggle, picturing Mickey in a bright pink shirt. 

“Give me that.” Mickey snaps, gripping onto the shirt and tugging it from Ian's hold. He scowls towards the pink fabric, scrunching it up in his fist. “You got anything to say for yourself, or you gonna sit there all day laughing like a fucking idiot?” 

Ian hides his face in his hands, drowning out his chuckling before taking a deep breath and facing the angry cloud beside him. “I'd prefer to laugh like an idiot,  _but_ I do have one thing I'd like to say.” 

Mickey flips him off, already knowing where this was going. “I don't want to fucking hear it.” 

Ian's face breaks into a smile, he shimmies down the bed and flops his legs over the edge. He pulls the shirt from Mickey's hands and lifts his against Mickey's chest, dodging the slap that Mickey threw his way. “You know, Mick, you would look pretty good in a pink shirt.” 

The older boy growls, snatching the shirt out of Ian's hands. “Oh fuck the fuck off, Gallagher, this is all your fucking fault, you're such a pig.” He storms out of the room, chucking the shirt in the opposite direction. 

Ian bursts into a fit of laughter, holding his stomach as he passed through. He yells over to Mickey, voice breaking, “Oh – ah – I fucking love it when you talk dirty to me,  _baby!”_ Ian knows Mickey hates  to be called that, that's why it was far more amusing that it should be. 

Mickey rushes back through, a basket in his hands, he tips it upside down and lets all the pinky looking clothes and socks fall into Ian's lap. He chucks the basket to the floor, before he jabs a finger into Ian's chest. “Just you wait, Gallagher, just you wait.” 

The next day Ian had  _ thought  _ Mickey had forgotten about the pink shirt and the pile of brightly looking laundry after three hot rounds of sex. Of course, Mickey never fails to plot his own revenge. When Ian pulls on his  _ only  _ white shirt, it's so small it doesn't even go past his bellybutton. Mickey fucking shrunk his clothes.It's ridiculous. 


End file.
